Battle of the Bug
by Bugmouthga
Summary: Agent 99 is heartbroken when she wakes up sick the morning of CONTROL's Spring Cotillion. When her partner, Agent 86, discovers her predicament, he quickly decides to help nurse his favorite person back to health - with mixed results!


THE BATTLE OF THE BUG

Tonight's the night, 99 thought, wearing a beautiful blue dress (that brought out her eyes) and a ravishing smile. Tonight was the annual Control Spring Cotillion and she had been looking forward to it all winter. Traipsing gracefully across the floor, she searched through the crowd for one particular face. Soon, she spotted the face she sought. "Max," she said warmly, reaching out her hands.

Smiling, and dressed suavely in a tuxedo, Max took her hands into his and squeezed them, pulling her close. "Hi, 99."

"Have you been here long?" she asked, taking his preferred arm as he led her over to the buffet table.

"Just a few minutes," he told her, grabbing for the Swedish meatballs, "Been looking for you." He stuck three of them into his mouth at once. "Dis ith gooth!"

"What?"

He chewed rapidly, then swallowed. "I said, 'this is good'. Wanna taste?" Before she had time to answer, he shoved one into her mouth.

She got rid of it as quickly as possible (she didn't much care for Swedish meatballs), then smiled graciously. "Thank you, Max."

"Welcome," he replied, moving his way down the table, "Ooh, look 99! Cocktail shrimp! You want some?"

"No, thank you, Max," 99 replied quickly, "I'm not a big fan of shrimp- cocktail shrimp, that is."

"Oh. Well, all the more for me, then," he said jubilantly, reaching for one. He dipped it into the cocktail sauce provided, then popped it into his mouth.

99 smiled lovingly at her partner. "Oh Max," she whispered discreetly, picking up a napkin and dabbing it on her tongue, "You've got cocktail sauce on your chin. Here . . ." She proceeded to wipe his face with a gentle hand.

He warmed at her touch and all the maternal affection that came with it. Once he finished, Max took a hold of her hand. "Thanks, 99."

"You're welcome, Max."

"Hey, you wanna dance?"

"Yes!" 99 exclaimed in elation. Max had taken her dancing several times in the past. But it was normally begrudgingly and very rarely his idea- until now.

The two Control agents stepped out to the dance floor, and slipped easily into each other's arms. With his left arm wrapped around her waist, Max held onto 99's hand with his right, but he deposited her hand to his shoulder, where upon he wrapped his other arm around her waist, as well.

This move surprised 99 even more than having him ask her to dance in the first place. Not to say that she wasn't delighted. After being partnered with Maxwell Smart for nearly two years, she knew- without a doubt- that she wanted Max to be her fella. Just the idea his unexpected embrace put into her head made her feel giddy and hopeful. She tightened her hold on him, lessening the space in between them. When Max didn't protest, 99 took this as a good sign and nuzzled against him.

The Casino's Then You Can Tell Me Goodbye played quietly in the backdrop, and a spotlight shone down from the ceiling, basking the dancing couples in a soft, radiant glow. The romantic atmosphere was not lost on 99, who sighed dreamily into her partner's ear. The bigger shock was that the romantic atmosphere had taken its toll on Max, too. Surpassing the young woman's expectations by a mile, Max whispered sweet nothings into 99's ear, before giving it a nibble. The act sent chills running up and down her spine.

"99," Max murmured, as he kissed her neck.

"Oh, Max," she sighed breathlessly.

"99," he said again, slowing their dancing to a stand still, while he continued to hold her on the dance floor, "There's something I have to tell you."

"Yes, Max?" she asked, her passion tempered only by her curiosity.

"Well 99," he began, averting his eyes in embarrassment, "It's just that . . .well, you and I have become quite close during the past couple years, and, uh. . . see, I've been doing some thinking and . . . well, it's obvious how we feel about each other, isn't it? And . . . gee, but you look good . . ."

Her smile sincere, she asked, "Max? What exactly are you trying to say?"

"Uh . . ." he stuttered, but his shyness and hesitance suddenly melted away, to reveal his urgency and fervor, "99, I'm trying to say that I . . . love you, and that I want to be with you forever."

"Oh Max!" 99 cried happily, and they kissed passionately.

When they parted lips, Max looked expectantly at her. "Well, uh . . . do you have something to say to me, 99?"

"Oh yes, Max," she nearly shouted (she was so ecstatic), "I want to say that I- ah! Ah . . . I . . . ah . . ."

"Yes?" he asked anxiously.

"Ah . . . ah . . ."

XXX

". . . Achoo!" 99 sneezed for the countless time that morning. Then the doorbell rang. Her daydream interrupted the ailing Control agent gave up on it, and shuffled her tired feet into the living room, heading for the front door. Her red nose was stuffy; in fact, her whole head was plugged up and pounding. Her entire body was in agony. Each step she made only sent searing pain up through her legs, passed her arms and then took permanent residence in her noggin.

The doorbell rang again, accompanied by an insistent knocking.

"Ugh! I'm coming!" 99 groaned miserably, as she continued to trudge towards the place that was loud and making her head hurt worse. She finally reached the door, then opened it up to find Max standing in the hallway, leaning against the doorframe, wearing an impatient stare. "Hi, Max," she coughed, moving to the side to admit him, "Come on in."

Max paused long enough to admire 99 in her pink, terry cloth bathrobe. Then he noticed that his partner was currently not looking . . . (to put it delicately) her best. First of all, she was still not dressed. Secondly, her hair was- while washed and neatly combed- not styled; nor was she wearing any make-up (not that she really needed it). And thirdly, the poor girl had the look of someone who had just been run over by a Mack truck. In other words, she looked sick.

"My gosh!" Max exclaimed, "99, what's wrong with you? You look just like a-"

"I'm sick, Max," she interrupted, as she sniffled, not particularly caring to hear the end of his comparison.

"But 99!" he protested, looking worried and disappointed, "You can't be sick! You're never sick! Oh, why'd you have to do this today of all days?"

Feeling somewhat defensive by his accusations, but too miserable to do much about it, 99 sat down on the couch and rested her elbows on her knees. She held her head in her hands and rubbed futilely at her throbbing temples. "Max," she whimpered, "I didn't plan this, you know."

"But 99," he whined, "Today is Friday, which means tonight is Friday night- and this Friday night is the annual Control Spring Cotillion!"

"I know, Max," she replied, before a brief coughing spell over took her. For once in his life, Max waited patiently while she finished hacking. (He even took to patting her gently on the back.) "I just can't help it if I'm sick, though. But maybe . . . well, I can try. Let me get dressed and then we can get to-"

"No 99," Max surmised, after carefully inspecting her, "You look awful! And you sound even worse. You better stay home today."

"Oh, but Max-"

"Don't worry, 99," he promised her, "We aren't being assigned to any new cases- not on a Friday! And especially not on the Friday of the big Control Spring Cotillion! All we were supposed to do today was catch up on paperwork. The Chief says we may be his best team, but when it comes to handing in paperwork, he says we're the worst!"

"Well," 99 compromised, "Perhaps if I stay home today, and rest up, then I'll be okay by tonight for the . . . oohh!" She moaned, and lay back against the sofa, starting to feel faint.

Instinctively, Max gripped her shoulders to steady her. "No, 99," he told her gently, "I don't think you'll be going anywhere for awhile. Besides, you know that stupid rule the Chief made up about people who call in sick for work- they're not allowed to come back later for any parties that might happen to come up."

"Oh yeah," she sighed, leaning against his chest, and recalling that the Chief had devised such a rule because Max kept calling in sick on party days, so he could have fun all day, then would come back in the evening for the party, saying that he had gone through a miraculous recovery! "I had forgotten. I'm sorry, Max."

"It's all right, 99," he assured her, "I'll take care of this." He picked up her phone and dialed. "Hey Larabee, let me talk to the Chief . . . its Max, Larabee. No, not Max Larabee- Maxwell Smart . . . Agent 86 . . . 99's partner . . . Yes, that Max. Let me talk to the Chief."

"Are you calling me in sick?" 99 asked, reaching for a tissue. Max nodded. "Thank you. I guess you can bring the paperwork here, for me to work on. But be sure to tell me what happened at the party tonight."

"Hey, Chief!" Max spoke up, "Hey, it's Max. Just wanted to let you know that 99 is really sick. Yeah, she looks horrible! Sounds pretty bad, too . . . A fever? Uh, let me check . . ." Max bent down and pressed his lips to 99's forehead. They grew hot instantly. "Hoo boy! Well, either she's got a fever, or else she slept with her head in the oven." He paused, held his hand over the receiver and asked her, "99, you didn't do that, did you?"

99 rolled her eyes. "No, Max."

Max continued listening to the Chief's instructions. "A doctor? Right, Chief. I'll call him . . . Dr. Boolie, right. And the rest of the day . . .? Oh, thank you, Chief. I'll catch you later, then. Bye." Max hung up the phone.

"What's going on, Max?" 99 asked groggily.

"Well, I told the Chief how sick you were. He told me to call the Control doctor- a guy named Buford Boolie-" he chuckled, "Funny name, huh?"

She mumbled an affirmative, then lay back to the full length of the couch, yawning and beginning to shiver.

"Oh, no you don't, 99," Max told her sternly, as he bent down and scooped the girl up into his arms, "I'm taking you to bed- eh, I mean, I'm taking you to the bed- er, your bed. Yes, that'll do. Then I'll call the doctor and get him to come and take a look at you." He carried her carefully into the bedroom. Despite 99's obvious illness, she had somehow managed to make the bed. Max sighed. Neat freak! With one mighty swoop of his hand, he undid the covers, then sat 99 down at the edge of the bed. He removed her slippers and disrobed her. Once barefoot and clad in only her long, blue nightgown, Max forced her to lay down and he covered her up. "I'll go call the doctor now." He started to leave, but 99 caught hold of his sleeve. "Yes, 99?"

"Aren't you going to work, Max?"

"No, the Chief gave me the rest of the day, and the whole weekend off. We both figured you'd need at least that much time to get better."

"But what about the cotillion?"

"We're not going," he told her, "You're just too sick, 99."

"You could still go," she reminded him, although it saddened her to think of Max going without her.

Max seemed to realize this. "Nah, remember the Chief's rule applies here for me, too, 'cause I'm missing work. Besides, it probably wouldn't be that much fun, anyway, without you."

"Really, Max?" she asked hopefully.

"Yeah," he admitted, "You seem to be the only person I know who can dance with me, without bumping into things and wrecking the whole place. I guess everyone else at Control are terrible dancers, 99. So, if you aren't there, I'd just have to stand around like a wallflower, and you know how I hate being the wallflower."

"Yes, I do," she said, smiling up at him.

"Now, let me go call the doctor, and I'll be right back."

Reluctantly, she let go of his sleeve and watched as he hurried out of the room. She could hear him speaking to the doctor on the phone. While he did so, 99's fevered mind started to wander. First she thought about how nice the Chief had been to give both she and Max the weekend off. Then, she wondered how a guy named Buford Boolie could ever become a doctor. After that, she thought about all the paperwork she and Max were behind on. Next, she thought about how sweet Max was being, coming in and taking charge so easily. After that, she contemplated the ever rising prices of movie tickets, and tried to think of a way to stop it. Before her addled brain could solve such a dilemma, however, Max had reentered the room, carrying a tray full of stuff.

"Hey 99," he said, carefully setting the tray on the nightstand, "Just called the doctor. He's a little backed up today, but he promised he'd be here within the next hour. In the meantime, he told me a few things I could do to make you more comfortable."

"Such as?" 99 asked, trying not to sound too leery.

"Well, he said to put a cold compress on your forehead and give you aspirin to take the fever down."

"Oh."

"But first, he wanted me to take your temperature. I've got the thermometer right here, 99." He picked it up from the tray, but grew hesitant and somewhat embarrassed. "Eh, 99, which way am I supposed to-"

"In the mouth, Max!" she replied quickly.

"Right," he sighed in relief, "Okay, open up, kiddo, and let's take that temp of yours."

99 did as she was told, and allowed Max to place the thermometer inside her mouth, just under her tongue.

Max timed the number of minutes on his watch, as he sat next to her, on the edge of the bed. When the proper amount of time had passed, he gently took away the thermometer, and held it up to the light to read it. "Hmm . . . wow 99, it's 102 degrees!" He rested his hand on her forehead. "That's a pretty high fever, you know. Poor thing." The hand that touched her forehead slid down to caress her cheek. "But don't worry, 99. The doctor will be here soon, and I'll stay, too, to look after you."

The young woman smiled at him, the gratitude shining plainly in her eyes. "Thank you, Max."

"No problem," he answered, smiling back, "After all, you stayed with me the entire time I was stuck at Control headquarters last month, when my arm got caught in the cafeteria ice machine. You remember that, 99?"

She yawned- to cover up a grin. "Yeah, I remember, Max."

"And when they finally unlodged my hand, it was ice cold," Max remembered, "And you . . . well, you held it, to warm it up for me."

99 sighed dreamily at the recollection. It had been the perfect excuse to hold his hand, non-stop, for two hours. "Well, it was the least I could do, Max."

"Eh . . . anything cold on you?" he asked hopefully.

Making a show of her shivering, 99 said, "Well Max, I have a fever and the chills, so . . . everything is cold on me."

"Oh?" he began innocently, "Well, let's just see what I can do for you." He scooted her over, then sat next to her and wrapped his arms around her. "How's that?"

Snuggling contentedly in his embrace, 99 rested her head against his shoulder. "It's much better, thank you."

"That's quite all right, 99," he replied, running his fingers through her hair, "Just want to keep you comfortable- Hey! 99, I forgot! You still have to take some aspirin and put a cold compress on your forehead."

"Oh yeah," she sighed in disappointment. She had been happy enough right where she was, thank you, and didn't really want to move.

"Come on, 99," Max urged, "Lie down now." When she complied, he set the compress on her forehead. Then he made her take a couple of aspirin. By that time, the doorbell rang. "Let me get that!" he said, then raced out of the room.

99 heard Max answer the door, and invite the doctor in. She heard the two men talking as they walked into the room. 99 sat up as the doctor approached: an elderly, kindly looking man with graying hair and an earnest face.

"Well, hello Miss 99," the man said, smiling in a concerned way. (He has a good bedside manner, 99 noted.)

"Hello doctor," she coughed.

"I hear you're not feeling so good today," the man said, reaching out to pat her on the hand.

"No sir, I'm not," she admitted, as the doctor felt her forehead.

"She has 102 temperature, doctor," Max told him helpfully.

"Does she? Well, that doesn't sound so good. But don't worry, dear," he assured the little invalid, "We'll have you fixed up in a jiffy!"

"Thank you, doctor," 99 replied gratefully. The old man reminded her of a kindly, old uncle; generous, friendly and concerned. She offered him a smile.

A wave of jealousy swept through Max. He didn't like it when 99 looked at other men; or smiled at other men; or talked to other men. It didn't matter that the man in question was older than the Chief, and who's only concern in her seemed to be her health. "I will help!" he quipped, folding his arms across his chest.

99 realized immediately the motive behind Max's loud proclamation. He was jealous. Why, she was not sure. Old Dr. Boolie wasn't exactly her type. But that never seemed to matter to Max. It was the same thing whenever another man was in her vicinity in the presence of her partner. To anyone else, it would have gotten quite annoying very quickly, but to 99, who had the patience of a saint, and who loved Max unconditionally, it was merely another one of the reasons why she loved him so. And so, even as she suffered through her illness, she set out to put her partner's mind at ease. "I know you will, Max," she agreed, then turned back to Dr. Boolie. "My partner has already been a great help, doctor."

"Good," Dr. Boolie stated, smiling at Max, "Then perhaps we may continue to rely on Mr. Smart to help out in your recovery."

99 looked up at Max questioningly.

"Just call me . . . Nurse Maxie," he said, smiling at her.

She smiled back at him, looking sickly and pale, but still the prettiest girl he had ever seen.

Dr. Boolie re-checked 99's temperature. He looked down her throat, checked her ears, and even her nose. He asked her a few questions about her symptoms. Both she and Max listened carefully to the doctor's instructions. "Well, young lady," the doctor said, "It seems to me that you've just got yourself a bad case of the flu. This bug has been going around for some time now. Not much you can do about it, though. You'll just have to treat the symptoms, and wait it out."

"How long will it take to wait it out?" Max asked, glancing down sympathetically at his ailing partner.

"Oh, don't worry, Mr. Smart," Boolie assured him, "These flu bugs don't usually last longer than a couple of days. Just keep up with her aspirin and cold compresses for headache and fever, make sure she drinks lots of liquids; like water, hot tea, and some soup, maybe. Basically, Mr. Smart, just try to keep her comfortable. Do you think you can handle that?"

"Are you kidding?" Max asked, "My middle name is Comfort!"

"It is?" the doctor asked in disbelief. "Really? Your name is Maxwell Comfort Smart?"

99 sighed. Yep, this man was definitely from Control, alright!

"No doc," Max explained, "It's not really my middle name."

Dr. Boolie gave him an annoyed look. "Well, then you shouldn't have said so, sir!" He checked his watch and looked back at 99 again. "Well miss, I had better be going now. I've got a lot more calls to make. Carlson from the lab says his bronchitis is acting up. Agent 13 has a stiff neck and Mr. Larabee says he's having problems with his wife."

"Well, what business of that is yours?" Max snapped, "You're not a counselor."

"In this case, Mr. Smart, it is my business," Boolie explained, "Her cooking is giving him heartburn."

"I . . . see," Max murmured sheepishly. "Eh . . . I'll show you to the door, doc." He really was anxious to get the weird man out of here, so he could be alone with 99.

The tired, sickly 99 watched the two men leave her room, and laid back down on the pillow, closing her eyes. She could hear Max trying to get the doctor out the door, and then he went into the kitchen, where he started puttering around. 99 drifted off to sleep, listening to the sounds of clinking glass and teakettle whistles.

XXX

"Hey, 99 . . ."

99 woke up, feeling groggy and disoriented. But her headache- while still there- wasn't as bad, and she could tell her fever was down. She sniffled. Her nose was still stuffy, though. Well, two out of three wasn't so bad. "Max?" she whispered.

"How you feeling, 99?" Max asked, taking away her compress- which had long since dried up. He rested a cool hand against her cheek. "Did you have a nice nap?"

"Yeah," she said, finally opening her eyes and focusing on his face.

"Good. Now, why don't you try to sit up? I made you some toast and tea and a bowl of chicken noodle soup."

"Thank you, Max," she replied, as she weakly forced herself to sit up and lean her back against the headboard.

Max set the small tray on the nightstand, then sat next to her at the edge of the bed. To 99's surprise, he began to feed her himself. "Does it taste okay?" Max asked fretfully, as she sipped on her soup.

The fact was, 99 couldn't really taste anything. Her sinuses were a mess and her taste buds couldn't register her tea from her toast. But when she looked up at her partner's hopeful, little face, she merely smiled and said, "Yes Max, it's all wonderful."

He grinned. "Yes well, making soup and toast is pretty easy. Now, I'm just trying to think of something else I can do for you to make you feel more comfortable. What would you like?"

"I don't know, Max," she admitted, laying back down, "What is it that nurses do for their patients?"

"Well, back when I was in the army, I got real sick once and a nurse had to take care of me for a few days," Max said.

"What did she do?" 99 asked, yawning. All of her energy had been spent on sitting up and eating, so now she was tired again.

"It wasn't a girl nurse, 99," he informed her, "It was an army medic guy."

"Okay. So, what did he do?"

Max thought about it. "Hmm . . . well, he gave me lot's of pills and a couple of shots. He fed me ice cream. Had to give me a sponge bath now and then."

"That sounds good," 99 murmured, closing her eyes, "Could you?"

"Sure," Max replied cheerfully, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "One question, 99."

"Mmm . . .?"

"Where do you keep your sponges?"

99's eyes opened wide and she sat up. "Ice-cream, Max!" she told him quickly, "I meant, some ice-cream would be nice."

"Oh right," Max said sheepishly, "Sure. I knew that. I'll uh, go get you some."

"Thanks."

Max left the room. It was the last thing 99 saw before her eyes closed again . . .

XXX

Later that evening, Max returned with more aspirin, a fresh, wet cloth for her brow, and some more soup. "I got you alphabet this time. To give you some variety. Not that you can really taste much of a difference."

99 lay in her bed, shivering uncontrollably. "I'm c-c-cold," she stuttered.

"Well here, take the tea. That'll warm your hands."

"No, I'm too shaky," she whimpered, "I'll only drop it."

"Do you have any gloves, 99?" he asked.

"Yes, but they've all been packed away for spring," she said, "Why?"

"Nevermind," he said, already on a different track, "I've got a better idea. 99, I'm going to get into your drawers."

"What?" she asked, sure that her addled brain had caused her to hear wrong.

"Where's your socks, 99?" Max asked, totally oblivious to 99's confusion.

"Oh. Uh, in my top drawer," she mumbled, her teeth chattering.

Max went to it and started fishing through the drawer. He took notice of all the pretty, lacy . . . stuff, before looking behind it and grabbing a pair of socks. He brought the socks over to her. "Hold out your hands now."

Tiredly, without questioning, she did so. He put the socks over her long, slender fingers.

"There you go," he said, "Homemade gloves. That should warm up your hands pretty quick."

"Yeah," she agreed weakly. Still, she shivered.

"Now, let's get you fed."

"What about my ice-cream?" 99 pouted, recalling he had promised her some.

"Uh . . . yes well, I did get you some, but by the time I brought it in here, you were already asleep, so I ate it."

"You ate it?"

"Well, I couldn't let it go to waste, now could I?"

"No, I . . . suppose not," she admitted begrudgingly.

"So, why don't you eat your soup and just pretend that it's . . . melted ice-cream?" he suggested sensibly.

"Max," she whined, "I can't eat soup and imagine that it's ice-cream."

"Yeah, you're right," he agreed, carefully bringing the spoon to her lips, "I guess that's pretty hard for a sick person to do."

"Max," she told him matter of factly, "Nobody can eat soup and pretend they're eating ice-cream! It simply isn't possible!"

"Good point. Now here, take a sip of this tea." She obeyed. "Very good. All done. Now, how's about that sponge bath?"

"No!" she groaned in annoyance, letting her high fever get in the way of her normally sweet nature, "I don't want a bath! I'm too cold!"

Max sighed. Boy, this girl could get grumpy with a 102 temperature! Still, he realized that it was the fever yelling at him; not her. He came up with an alternative solution, but felt a bit awkward about suggesting it. "Well . . . would you like me to . . . snuggle with you- um, just till you warm up, I mean."

She looked up at him, her blue eyes barely able to stay open. "Please."

"Right," he said, then took the tray to the kitchen. He came back, turned down the light, removed his shoes, and then laid down next to her. He hugged her close and she gravitated instinctively to his warmth.

"This is nice," 99 admitted. She tucked her head down, embarrassed by her admission. "Uh, are you comfortable?"

"Oh yeah, sure," he said, his voice as taut and nervous as every muscle in his body currently felt. Max wasn't completely sure as to why he should feel so nervous. He'd known 99 for quite a few years now and had fallen asleep in her presence many a time. On plane rides; train rides; during initiation meetings at Control, when they were supposed to be learning about some new weapon. One time, he and 99 had fallen asleep in his apartment on the floor, after he'd accidentally, set off his sleeping gas device from his chair. But somehow, all of those times seemed different from this time.

"I can't sleep," 99 grumbled, rutzing around in his embrace, trying to find the most comfortable position.

"Uh . . . you want me to sing you to sleep?" he offered.

She yawned. "Sure."

"Okay, let's see . . . Rock-a-bye baby, in the tree top-"

"No, Max, I don't like that song!"

Max sighed, but tried to remain patient. After all, the girl was sick and fighting a fever. "Um . . . oh! Here's one! Oh say, can you see, by the dawn's early light-"

"No!" she interrupted again, perturbed.

"Yeah well, I suppose when you're sick, you don't feel too patriotic," Max had to admit.

"Sing something soft . . . and sweet," 99 instructed.

"Soft and sweet?" he asked, "Gee, that kind of narrows it down a bit. Hmm, well, how about . . . this?" He paused for a moment, trying to recall the words. "Kiss me each morning, for a million years. Hold me each evening at your side. Tell me you love me for a million years. Then if it don't work out- then if it don't work out- then you can tell me goodbye."

99's heart soared. That had been the song she'd imagined would be played at the Control Spring Cotillion. Was it merely a coincidence that he was singing it now?

"Sweeten my coffee with a morning kiss. Soften my dreams with your sigh . . ."

99 did just that. She sighed contentedly. All the while, her eyelids started to droop. "That's the song from my dream," she mumbled.

Max smiled, then skipped to the last verse. "But if you must go- ooh, I won't tell you no. Just so that we can say we tried. Tell me you'll love me for a million years. Then if it don't work out- then if it don't work out- then you can tell me good-bye . . ." After finishing the song, he looked at 99, who was fast asleep, her head on his shoulder, her socked hands resting on his chest. "Good night, 99," he whispered, then kissed her on the nose. He yawned twice, then was out like a light.

XXX

Max woke up feeling warmer and happier than he had in a long time. His first sensation was his lovely- albeit sick- partner filling his arms. His first sight was her sweet face next to his. He noticed that she didn't look as pale as she had yesterday. Her expression was soft, feminine, innocent. He wanted to kiss her. He figured just a quick one wouldn't hurt, before she could wake up. He scooted closer . . .

99 woke up coughing and hacking something awful. She opened her eyes to see poor Max getting the brunt of it- in his face.

"Morning," he called, trying to remain cheerful.

"Oh Max, I'm sorry," she apologized, then sneezed . . .

. . . Max wiped off his face.

"Max!" she cried, "I didn't mean to! I'm-"

"Sorry, yes, I know," he said, quickly disengaging himself from her arms and standing up. He headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"To fix breakfast," he told her, and he left, but came back to mutter, "And since you just gave me a shower, I see nothing wrong in giving you a sponge bath!"

She smiled at him, chuckling. "Uh, right Max."

"Really? Then does that mean you want me to-"

"No, Max!"

"Fine! I'll go fix breakfast!"

XXX

Tea and toast with some fresh fruit was for breakfast. Much to Max's disappointment, 99 said she felt good enough to take a shower- without his help! So he took that time to run home, shower and bring some fresh clothes back. When he returned, he'd found- much to his dismay- 99 standing in the middle of her kitchen, staring in baffled disbelief at the mess surrounding her.

"You weren't meant to see this," Max told her quietly.

"Max, what happened?"

He shrugged. "I cooked. But don't worry about a thing, 99. I'll clean it all up later. You shouldn't be standing there, anyway. Doctor said you needed plenty of rest. Now let's get you out of those constricting clothing and back to bed."

She walked to her room, then sensed that Max was following her. She stopped, turned around, he ran right into her, smashing both their noses. "Ow!" they cried simultaneously.

"Uh Max," she began tactfully, "I think I'll be able to undress myself just fine."

"You sure?" he asked earnestly, "'Cause I can help- and I can even do it without looking! See, I'll close my eyes, and-"

"That won't be necessary, Max."

"You want me to keep my eyes open?" Max asked in surprise. "Well, okay, but I thought you were a bit more modest than that-"

"Max!"

"Fine! I'll go clean up the kitchen!"

99 slipped back into her nightgown and laid back down on the bed (which she had made!), on top of the covers.

"You decent?" Max called, a few minutes later.

"Sure Max, come in."

With a twinge of disappointment, Max opened the door. "Hey, you're not laying down right!"

"What do you mean?" she asked in confusion, "Is there a wrong way to lay down?"

"Yes, and you're doing it!" he informed her, "Now take off you slippers and get under the covers- now, missy!"

"Max," she said in surprise, as she obeyed, "You're so bossy and domineering."

"Yeah . . .?"

"I . . . like it."

"Me, too," he agreed, "Now let me tuck you in."

"Alright, Max."

He did so, taking a great care. "Are you warm enough now?" he asked, as he ran a finger along her cheek.

"Yeah."

"Good," he replied, sitting down beside her, "Are you sleepy?"

"Not really," she said, then yawned.

"Are you hungry?"

"No, Max."

"Thirsty?"

"No."

"Did you want that sponge bath-"

"No, Max!"

He sighed. "Well, I'm out of ideas. What do you want to do?"

"Get better," she muttered.

"You will," he assured her, "I mean, you've got the finest care available."

She smiled lovingly at him. "That's right, Nurse Maxie."

Max chuckled. "Well, you're the only one I'd take care of like this."

"Am I?" she asked shyly.

"Sure," he told her, "Because we're partners, we have to take care of each other. So, since you're sick, it's my duty to make you feel better. After all, you'd do the same for me . . . wouldn't you?"

"Of course I would, Max," she assured him, reaching for his hands, giving them a squeeze, "Like you said, we are partners."

"99," Max asked, "Do you like being partners with me?"

"Yes Max," she answered truthfully, "Very much so." She watched him grin from ear to ear. "Do you like being partners with me?"

"Oh yeah," he sighed dreamily. "Uh, I mean, well, sure, 'cause you're so tough and smart and . . . statuesque."

"Statuesque," 99 laughed, "Yes, such an integral component of being a spy."

"Well, in your case, it is, [as stated in rule 17-A]" he said. He noticed her eyes getting heavy once again. She yawned. "So 99," he asked, "If you weren't sick today, what do you suppose we'd be doing right now?"

"I don't know," she admitted, "What do you think?"

"We might have gone to see a movie," he theorized, "Or maybe took Fang to the park with us for a picnic."

"We could have gone to the new art gallery," she tried, yawning, "Or went to an amusement park."

"Or maybe, we would have ended up hanging around here, anyway, and just watched t.v., or something."

"Yeah," she sighed wistfully, "Or we could have talked about last night's cotillion."

The disappointed expression on her tired face was not lost on Max. "You really wanted to go, didn't you?"

"Yes," she murmured, "I really did."

"I'm sorry," he replied sympathetically, as he brushed her bangs back, "I know you did. I wanted to go, too."

"If only I hadn't gotten so sick. Its all my fault we missed it."

"No 99," he disagreed, "Nobody can help getting sick. Don't you worry about it anymore; okay?"

"But Max-"

"But nothing," he interrupted, "It wasn't your fault. It could have just as easily happened to me, you know." No answer. "99?" He looked at her, to find she had fallen asleep again. "Sleep tight," he whispered, leaning over and kissing her cheek. He left the room to prepare for dinner and something else. . .

XXX

99 found herself at the Control Spring Cotillion. But she was not having any fun at all. It seemed everything she touched got ruined. It was both heartbreaking and unbearable. When she went to the refreshment table, it collapsed and sent the punch bowl flying, finishing its journey by landing in the Chief's face. And as for Max? Well, he was nowhere to be seen. She looked everywhere for him and couldn't find him. When she finally did spot him, she caught him on the dance floor, holding Christine Critchenbaugh in his arms. Christine was not a Control agent, but actually an old rival from 99's high school days. Why Miss Critchenbaugh should be at Control headquarters, dancing with Max, 99 hadn't a clue, but there she was, just the same, with her arms wrapped around Max's shoulders and giggling like a fool. 99 gasped, as both Max and Christine turned to face her simultaneously.

"Hi 99," Max said pleasantly, waving his hand.

"Maxie and I are going steady!" Christine called, as she nibbled on Max's ear.

"Nooo!" 99 screamed in horror.

XXX

"No, no," 99 continued to sob.

"99 hey, 99 wake up, it's okay!"

Feeling a gentle nudging on her shoulders, 99 stopped crying and opened her eyes. She found herself in her dark bedroom (she must have been sleeping for quite a long time!), with her partner leaning over her, peering, with great concern, into her face. "Max?" she asked feebly.

"Well, of course, it's me, 99," he told her, "Who else would be in your bedroom?" He paused for a moment. Somehow, that didn't sound quite right.

"Max," she sighed, "I was at the Cotillion-"

"No, you weren't."

"And I made a mess of the refreshment table."

"That's funny; usually I do that."

"The Chief got the entire punch bowl dumped on him."

"Same thing that happened last year," Max reminded her.

"I couldn't find you anywhere!"

"Did you check the men's room?"

"And when I finally did see you, you were dancing, cheek to cheek with that horrible Christine Critchenbaugh!"

"Who the heck is that?" Max asked in confusion.

"The mean girl I knew in high school," 99 explained.

"Oh. Well, see 99, it was only a bad dream- a real stupid one, too. I don't dance with mean girls, anyway. They're too . . . mean."

"But it seemed so real," 99 groaned, wiping tears from her face.

"Well, it wasn't," he reminded her. He patted her shoulder. "Now, how you feeling?"

"Upset and rattled," she admitted.

He shook his head. "No 99, I'm not talking about your mental state. How are you feeling physically?"

"Oh. Well, better, I guess."

"Good. Come on." He pulled down the covers and yanked her up out of bed.

That's when she noticed that he was wearing a tuxedo. "Max?" she asked in confusion, "Why are you dressed in a tux? Are you going somewhere?"

"We both are," he told her, smiling devilishly and taking her hand. "Come on, 99."

"Where are we going?" she asked, "Max, I'm not even dressed."

"Doesn't matter," he told her, "You don't have to wear clothes where I'm taking you."

"Um, Max . . ."

Agent 86 led his reluctant partner into the living room. "99," he said, gesturing grandly, "Welcome to your cotillion!"

99 looked, wide eyed, at her living room, which had been transformed into an impromptu party hall. Max had hung up decorations all over the place. There were streamers, balloons and a big banner (written in Max's loving scrawl) which read: 99's Spring Cotillion. On the back, it said Happy Birthday, Chief, but that didn't bother 99 in the slightest.

Against the far wall, Max had set up a buffet table. Keeping in mind of 99's illness, he set the theme by having four different kinds of soup available. There was also a bowl of crackers, a plate full of toast, a kettle with hot tea, and all the 7-UP she could drink. She stood before it, checking out the cuisine.

"There's also more ice-cream in the freezer," Max informed her, "Chocolate, vanilla and strawberry!"

"Oh Max," she murmured in disbelief.

"And I've got all the fixin's to make up a real yummy sundae," he went on excitedly, "Whip cream, nuts, cherries, chocolate sprinkles . . . Of course, with you being sick, you probably shouldn't have all that stuff; but I still can!"

Before Max could brag about the old Control decorations he'd managed to swipe, he found 99 burrowing into his arms, and hugging him fiercely. "Oh Max," she cried, emotionally, "You're the sweetest man in the whole world!"

"So are you," he offered generously.

It was on the tip of 99's tongue to say, "I love you, Max," but she held her emotions in check. It was something that she'd felt for her partner from almost the first moment she'd met him, but she decided it would be best to wait, until he brought it up. Instead, she told him, "Max, this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I thank you, with all of my heart."

"You're welcome, 99," he replied, still feeling a bit awkward over the open display of affection. He focused his attention to the buffet table. He picked up a cracker. "Saltine?"

"Yes, it is, Max."

"No, I mean, do you want one?"

"No, thank you."

He broke it in two pieces. "Ah, come on. Let's just share one!" He put one piece into her mouth, then ate the other. Afterwards, he poured himself a cup of 7-UP and took a swig. He handed the glass to 99, who drank from his cup. "Now," he said, "How about a sponge bath?"

"Max!"

"Just kidding, 99," he laughed, "Let's dance."

"There's no music, Max."

"There will be," he told her, as he went over to her stereo and put on a record. "Come on, 99, hurry, so we don't waste any of the song!"

"Right Max," she agreed tolerantly, then raced over to him, still clad in her nightgown and a pair of old slippers.

He took her into his arms as the song Never My Love, by The Association began to play. They danced silently for awhile, and 99 leaned her still weakened body against him for warmth and support. She could feel Max breathing in her hair.

Max breathed in the aromatic scent of 99's hair, as he held her tightly in his arms. Her tall, lithe form pressed firmly against him, he rested his head on her shoulder and closed his eyes. This was heavenly! If there was anything more heavenly than this, he didn't want to know about it!

99, feeling equally warm and fuzzy, nuzzled with Max, her arms draped about his shoulders. This was perfection! If there was anything more perfect than this, she didn't want to know about it!

"99," Max whispered into her ear, "There's something I have to tell you."

The girl perked up immediately. This sounded just like her daydream from the previous day. Could it be that he was going to make a proclamation? "Yes, Max?"

"Well 99," he began, "I just wanted to say that . . ."

"Yes . . .?"

"That . . . well, you're my best friend."

She was somewhat disappointed, but her heart warmed from the compliment, nonetheless. She kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Max. You're my best friend, too."

"I am?"

"Of course."

"Yeah," he sighed contentedly, "And there's nothing better than a friend."

"I can think of something better," 99 muttered under her breath.

"What was that, 99?"

"Uh, I said . . . I can think of nothing better," she replied quickly.

"I can," Max muttered under his breath, "Anyway, 99, you're not just my friend. You're my best friend! And there's no one I trust more, rely on more, or lo-ike more than you!"

"Oh Max," she replied, with tears in her eyes, "I feel the same about you."

Max couldn't take it anymore. He just had to kiss her! Without another word, he pressed his lips to hers for a brief moment.

"Oh Max," 99 gasped, after they'd parted, "You- you shouldn't have done that!"

"Why not?" he asked defensively. He looked hurt and embarrassed by her protest. "Wasn't it good enough for you?"

"Max, that's not what I meant," 99 explained, apologetically, "Of course, it was good enough. You give the most . . . loveliest kisses of anyone I know."

"I do?"

"Yes. Nobody does it better."

"Wait a minute," he asked in concern, "Just how many other guys do you let kiss you?"

"None, Max," she promised, "You're it."

"Well, in that case, why shouldn't I have?"

"Max, I'm sick, remember? You could catch this awful flu bug from me."

"I don't think so, 99," he replied confidentially.

"Why not?"

"Because," he explained, "I've been exposed to your germs for over twenty- four hours, already and nothing has happened. I've been sneezed on, shared food with you and slept with you- eh, well . . . you know what I mean. So, I'm not worried."

"You're not?"

"Not at all."

"Okay."

"Now," he said, "How about that sponge bath?"

"Max," she warned.

"Just kidding, 99. Why don't we have some ice cream? I can make us those sundaes."

"Good idea," she agreed, "Come on." She took his hand and headed for the kitchen.

"Wait just a minute, 99!" he exclaimed indignantly, "I'll make the sundaes, if you don't mind!"

"Why?"

"You think I want your sicko germs all over my ice-cream?" he asked.

"But Max," she reasoned, "You just said that you . . . well, that I- oh, nevermind. Go ahead, Max. I'll wait out here."

"Right!"

99 watched her beloved partner with a bemused smile, as he bounded cheerfully into the kitchen.

XXX

99 stretched luxuriously on her bed. Then she groaned. She felt sick, alright, but it wasn't from her stuffy nose or her throbbing head or her achy joints. It was her tummy, which had been filled with way too much ice cream the night before. Otherwise, she felt great. Her other symptoms had all but disappeared over night.

She heard a low moan next to her, then noticed her partner laying beside her on the bed. He had insisted on staying in there with her again, just in case she got cold during the night. (She hadn't, of course, but darn if she was going to say anything to Max about it!)

Yawning, 99 leaned over and looked at the clock. It was almost noon! She got up and hopped into the shower. Afterwards, she went into the kitchen and attempted to clean it up, after last night's sundae fiasco. An hour later (Boy, had Max made a mess!), 99 emerged from the clean kitchen, feeling tired and disshelved. She ventured back into the bedroom and flopped down on the bed, causing Max to finally stir.

"99?" he asked in a groggy tone, as he propped up on one elbow, then groaned in agony and lay back down.

"Max, what's wrong?" she asked in concern.

He sniffled once, then began to cough. "I . . . 99, I don't feel so good."

Pressing her lips to his forehead, 99 gasped, then pulled back and said, "Max! You're burning up! You're very hot!"

"You're not so bad, yourself," he told her, managing a feeble smile.

99 smiled back. Leave it to Max to flirt even while he was sick. "Perhaps I should call Dr. Boolie."

"No 99, it's Sunday. He won't make housecalls on the weekend. He's probably got something more important to do, anyway; like church, or being with his family. Or golfing."

She sighed. "Oh Max, I'm sorry."

"It's all right, 99. He can't really do much for me, anyhow. I'm sure I got what you have. Wait a minute . . . maybe you should be sorry! This is all your fault, you know! Darn it, 99! Why'd you have to eat from my ice-cream bowl last night?"

"I didn't," she reminded him, "You finished off mine! Besides, it was probably the kiss that got you sick."

"Or maybe it was the sneeze in my face!"

99 rolled her eyes. "Max, I've told you how sorry I was about that. But I still think it was the kiss- or the ice-cream."

"Or the sponge bath," he added.

"Max, you never gave me one," she told him.

"Well, maybe if I had, I wouldn't have gotten sick!"

"That doesn't make any sense, Max!"

"99?"

"Yes, Max?"

"Can we stop yelling now? My head hurts."

"Oh, poor Max. Of course we can. I'm sorry." She tucked the covers up around him. "There now, I had better make that call."

"But 99, the doctor won't-"

"No Max," she said, "I'm going to call the Chief. As bad off as you are, I don't think you'll be able to work tomorrow."

"What about you, 99?" he asked hopefully, "I mean, I took care of you."

"That's right, Max," 99 replied, with a sly grin, "And when I explain to the Chief how sick you've become- as well as how weak I still am, I'm sure we'll have no problem staying home."

"Will you be my nurse?" he asked in anticipation.

"Of course, Max."

"Hmm . . . can I call you Nurse 99?"

She chuckled. "If you'd like, Max."

"Hey 99, do you still have that nurse uniform from the time we infiltrated Satan Place?"

"No, Max," she said, visibly blushing, "I'll be right back."

Max watched her leave. He sighed happily. Yes! More quality time to spend with 99! He heard her end of the conversation with the Chief. She'd handled it quite well, and had guaranteed them at least two more days off. Then he heard her venture into the kitchen. Sometime later, she returned with the familiar tray, carrying the familiar foods- soup, toast and hot tea.

"Max, I made you something to eat," she told him, "And I've got some aspirin for you to take and a cold compress for your forehead."

"What? No sponge bath?" he pouted.

"Max!"

"Just kidding, 99."

She fed him, then gave him the aspirin and rested the cool cloth against his brow. She noticed he was shivering slightly.

"Are you okay, Max?"

"I'm c-c-cold," he admitted.

"Did you want to wear my socks?" she offered.

"Nah, but could you . . . well, you know . . ."

"No," 99 scolded him for the countless time, "No sponge bath!"

"No, it's not that, 99," he told her sheepishly, "That would come later."

"Max!"

"Just kidding, 99."

She gave him a seductive smile. "You had better watch out, Max," she warned him playfully, "Or someday, I might just take you up on that offer."

Max's feverish eyes lit up in anticipation. "Really?"

"Just kidding, Max!" she taunted.

He folded his arms across his chest. "That isn't funny, 99!"

"Sorry, Max."

"I mean, you just don't joke about something like a sponge bath!"

"Okay, Max. What was it you wanted, then?"

"You mean the sponge bath?"

"No Max, I mean before that."

"Oh yes . . . eh, well, I think I forgot . . . oh! I remember now! I'm cold."

99 averted her eyes. "Did you want me to . . . snuggle with you?" He nodded vigorously. "Alright Max, scoot over some." He obeyed and she spooned in behind him. "This okay, Max?"

"Perfect," he murmured, before turning red in embarrassment. "Uh, I mean, yes, I am feeling much warmer now, thank you."

The two lay there quietly for several hours, snuggling close and drifting in and out of sleep.

Then . . . "99?"

"Yes, Max?"

"I'm thirsty. Can I have a drink of your water?"

99 noticed her glass on the nightstand. "Oh, better not do that, Max. You could get me sick again, if we share a drink, and then where would we be? I'll go get you some water."

"Thanks, Nurse 99," Max sighed sleepily.

As soon as she left the room, Max slid over to her nightstand and took a big drink of her water, making sure to lick the rim of the glass all the way around. He figured if he played his cards right, they might be able to milk a week out of this flu bug . . .

The End

By Lisa M. S. Johns/May 2001

Notes: 1. The whole premise of this story came to me last month, when I came down with a very bad kidney infection. I was extremely ill, and my fiancée was kind enough to stay home from work with me and took care of me.

2. The Casinos came out with their hit "Tell Me Goodbye" in 1967.

3. Fellow Smartian Gina Woodard informed me that I should explain myself, when both 99 and Max check their respective partners for fevers, and they press their lips to the forehead. My mother (and other people's mothers) use this method to check for fevers. Its not always accurate to use one's hands to feel for a warm brow, because the hand is more easily swayed by the temperature in a room (a person's hands can get cold easily), therefore making a "hand reading" less accurate, than a "lip reading". Is this making any sense? Probably not the way I'm explaining it, but it is the more effective method.

4. When Max says, "That'll do," it was inspired by a line that Mr. Burns says from "The Simpsons" in the episode "Marge Vs. The Monorail".

5. I "borrowed" a bit of dialogue from one of my all time favorite chick flicks, "Romy & Michele's High School Reunion" (1997) starring Mira Sorvino and Lisa Kudrow, when 99 claims that Max is so "bossy and domineering".

6. Rule 17-A (as established by myself, and Gina "Wiggles" Woodard) in the Control rulebook states that every Control agent over the number of 98 and under the number of 100, must be statuesque!

7. Different activities Max and 99 discuss what they could have been doing, had she not been sick, are all things they have done (or will have done) in either an episode on the show, or in one of my stories. Going to the movies appears in my upcoming story "Max & 99, Bonnie & Clyde, Siegfried & Starker and Sukiyaki". They go on a picnic in my earlier story "The Impossible Dream Part I". They go to an amusement park in the 3rd season episode "The Wax Max". I mentioned the art gallery as an inside joke- Barbara Feldon once owned an art gallery with her ex-husband, Lucien Feldon.

8. Max puts out 7-UP on his buffet table. This is a soda that people just tend to drink when they're sick. Don't exactly know why. Just feels easy on the tummy.

9. The Association came out with the romantic hit "Never My Love", sometime in the mid 1960s.

10. 99 tells Max that when it comes to kissing, nobody does it better. That's a theme song to the James Bond flick "The Spy Who Loved Me" sung by Carly Simon.

11. 99 says, "That doesn't make any sense, Max!" That's actually one of my all time favorite 99 lines, uttered in the totally awesome 4th season opener "The Impossible Mission".

12. Max asks if 99 still has her nurse uniform from "Satan Place"- an episode (of the same name) from the first season, in which Max and 99 pummel an unsuspecting doctor and nurse so that they may infiltrate Harvey Satan's lair, and rescue the Chief, whom he'd kidnapped.


End file.
